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The Price of Vanity

Little Meems loves, loves, LOVES to look in the mirror. Not because she's vain -- frankly she could care less that her hair is tangled, her nail polish is nothing but a chip and her clothes don't match. I wish she'd spend a little more time in this particular area, but I'll regret saying that someday. She loves to pretend, and, even more, loves to watch herself while doing so.

Usually wearing a wig (the pink one seems to have made a recent comeback), heels, a variety of jewelry, a purse, a baby bag, an infant and a coffee thermos.

If only she could multitask the rest of her life as well.

The other morning, as I fired off an email before bus stop, I heard her in the bathroom, talking to herself in the mirror. As this is now second nature to all who reside here, I didn't think twice until it was time to go and then...splash. Followed by a blood curdling scream.

She'd stepped in the toilet and there was water everywhere and her shoe and sock were soaked and her pants were also wet and then she slipped a little on the water on the floor and we were going to miss the bus and we were going to be late. She went berserk. Literally. In fact, look "berserk" up in the dictionary. Pretty sure you'll see her picture there.

Keep in mind, when I asked her if she was standing directly on the toilet seat instead of the lid, her answer was "NOO-WA". Two syllables. In all caps.

Being the excellent mother I am, I diffused the situation immediately with my calm voice and lightning-quick efficiency. Because I am an excellent mother. With lightning-quick reflexes. And also I'm unshakably rational.

We made it to the bus. Can you believe it? But not before she fought me on every. single. pair. of shoes I pulled out of the closet. Seriously? You're going to be this difficult NOW?

Later, upon assessing the ridiculous amount of water that was on the floor, I noticed a faint indication that one of her brothers had likely visited the offending toilet sometime before her splashdown.